


False Start

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Sex, Derek Cooks, Derek and Isaac bromance, Derek and Stiles are emotionally stupid, Derek owns a garage, Dirty Talk, Failwolf, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating Derek Hale was supposed to be freaking <i>awesome</i> - and having sex with Derek was supposed to be even more awesome than that. Too bad the first time it happens, it's a colossal disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	False Start

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Werewolf Big Bang](http://werewolfbigbang.livejournal.com/).

Stiles didn’t understand how all this turned into a colossal fucking disaster. 

Dating Derek Hale was supposed to be freaking _awesome_ \- and having sex with Derek was supposed to be even more awesome than that. So awesome, in fact, that Stiles wasn’t quite sure he believed any of it was happening. 

It had started like this: Derek kissed him. Simple as that. They were in the loft, Derek making a quick dinner while Stiles worked on digitizing the latest section of a newly obtained bestiary. It was like numerous other nights they had spent together. If Stiles was honest and objectively looked at the situation, maybe the whole them getting together thing was inevitable. 

He had been spending a ridiculous amount of time at Derek’s alone. Granted, most of the time he was on his laptop, Derek on his, as they sat side by side on the couch and worked on inputting data. Derek transcribed from the tomes or Lydia’s translations, and Stiles added notes, catalogued, and compared it to the database of information they’d already collected. Usually, Derek was quiet while Stiles rambled about his days. 

“I totally aced my anatomy test today. Patching up the Pack’s wounds for the past couple years has really helped me wrap my head around this stuff. Maybe I should go into the medical field.” 

And sometimes, Derek talked, too. 

“I met with a passing Pack today. They’re travelling from Minnesota.”

“I wish you could have seen Isaac’s face after Danny pelted him with a lacrosse stick on accident at practice today. You would have loved it. It was hilarious, though Finstock was really confused about why his nose wasn’t nearly as broken by the end of practice…” 

“Isaac let me look over his college application. I told him he didn’t have to stay in Beacon Hills, but he doesn’t want to be away from the Pack.”

“Dad’s been on my ass about applying to colleges, but I don’t know where to go. I kinda want to go somewhere far away, but I don’t want to leave the Pack. Scott’s gonna just go to Beacon Hills Community College. I think he wants to go to vet school maybe, but that may just be his hero worship of Deaton talking.” 

“I saw your dad in town earlier and we ended up having lunch. Yes, I made sure he didn’t eat anything he wasn’t supposed to.”

“Lydia wants to go on a big graduation trip, but we can’t decide on a place. Do you have any suggestions? And don’t say camping, because I spend enough time out in the woods with all of you.” 

“I had a guy with a Ferrari come into the garage today. A _Ferrari_ , Stiles.”

But mostly, Derek listened and Stiles talked. On those nights, Derek made dinner, and Stiles learned he was a great cook. 

“My dad loved to cook,” Derek had told him as Stiles watched him mixing something in a wok. Stiles didn’t even know people _actually_ cooked in those things. He just couldn’t get past the name.

“Wok, wok, _wok_ , wokwokwok,” Stiles repeated until Derek tossed a towel at his head. 

Derek made proper meals, not just some vegetable from a can and a piece of rubbery meat. 

“If you cooked for my father,” Stiles said, “he wouldn’t complain so much about eating healthy. Too bad I inherited the Stilinski male gene of being unable to boil water without burning it.” 

Pretty soon it became a tradition, Stiles dropping by a few times a week after lacrosse practice and homework. They’d eat, work, and then sometimes watch TV. Stiles teased Derek relentlessly for his love of the Discovery Channel and home remodeling shows, while Derek refused to watch the Syfy channel with him. But Stiles stole the remote anyway and Derek half-heartedly attempted to get it back (because Stiles was under no illusion that he could fend off an Alpha werewolf who wanted his remote back), and Derek only complained once every half hour about Stiles’ bad taste in television. 

That had been Stiles’ life for months. He didn’t even know he wanted more until Derek kissed him. Derek had just put lasagna in the oven and dropped onto the couch beside Stiles. Stiles moved his computer from his lap, stretched with a loud groan, and then turned to give Derek a smile. He opened his mouth to say something, and then Derek leaned forward and pressed his lips against Stiles’ gently. 

A small _oh_ escaped Stiles’ mouth, a puff of breath against Derek’s mouth, a verbal realization, and then they were kissing more fervently, hands getting lost in hair and fingers wrapping around biceps, needy little gasps and excited tongues sliding together. When they finally came up for air, Derek’s eyes were bright, his hair mussed and lips swollen. As Stiles looked at him, sitting so close, their bodies touching so that he could feel the heat radiating from Derek’s skin, something clicked into place. Finally made sense. 

They kissed on the couch until Derek heard the over timer go off, and then they ate lasagna and kissed their way through one of Derek’s dumb Discovery shows. And that night, Stiles didn’t even make fun of him about it.

Stiles didn’t expect them to have sex the night they did. It was a Wednesday, and Stiles had brought his European history book over so he could study for his test. He was stretched out on Derek’s couch, back against the armrest with his feet in Derek’s lap, while Derek read the latest book Peter had passed on to him. It was comfortable, even in the silence, with Derek’s fingers lightly playing along the bones of Stiles’ feet and ankles. Absently, Derek stroked his thumb down the sole of Stiles’ foot, causing Stiles to moan unexpectedly. They both stared at each other, surprised, and then Derek did it again, this time slower and more deliberate. Stiles squirmed in his seat at the new, disturbingly arousing sensation. And when Derek lifted Stiles’ leg and licked his ankle, there was no going back.

Derek easily picked up Stiles and carried him over to the bed, dropping him so he bounced a few times as Derek pulled off his shirt. Stiles had seen Derek shirtless countless times over the years, but seeing him shirtless with the express knowledge of where this was going made Stiles’ cock harden significantly.

Derek made Stiles let him undress him, so he waited impatiently as Derek removed Stiles’ shirt too slowly, then unbuttoned his jeans with care and slid them off before finally - _finally_ \- pulling off Stiles’ boxers. Derek’s face was hovering above his crotch, his eyes trained as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic band and tugged them over Stiles’ erection, and Stiles made a pleased sound as Derek’s face nuzzled against the base of his cock.

But then, Stiles heard a low rumble and Derek jerked away. Stiles’ head spun from the unexpected movement, and when he glanced at Derek, he was pressed rigidly against the wall. He was partially wolfed out, fangs extending and face distorted, his claws digging roughly into the mattress. Guilty, Stiles felt a wave of panic, and he tried to shove it down before Derek felt it. But when Stiles glimpsed his face, he knew that he already had.

“Dude, I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard, I wasn’t expecting – “

Derek shook his head, his features slowly morphing back to normal. “No,” he mumbled, his fangs still partially extended, “It’s my fault.”

“It’s okay, it’s all good. Look, I still have my organs.” Stiles tried for a lopsided grin, but his nerves were still aware and he realized that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. Shit. So, he leaned forward and pressed a tentative kiss to Derek’s mouth, which seemed to relax him a bit. 

Derek pushed him back against the bed with more hesitation than before, and Stiles realized he probably wasn’t helping matters with his own anxiety which had settled in for the night, because it was not going anywhere, nope, no way. Derek kissed his way down Stiles’ stomach, and his cock was hard, twitching as Derek’s hands swept across his belly, and when Derek wrapped his fingers around his shaft, Stiles came with a surprised squeak.

“Fuck,” he said, white liquid squirting onto his stomach and over Derek’s hands. His face burned in embarrassment and he couldn’t even look at Derek. Derek had his hands on him for one second and he’d shot off like some overeager loser. Which, he realized, was exactly what he was.

Derek told him it was okay and kissed him and kept touching him and Stiles was eighteen, so it wouldn’t take long for his cock to stir again. So Derek spread Stiles’ legs and pushed one slick finger inside. Stiles tried to control his breathing as he adjusted to the foreign feeling. 

It felt uncomfortable as Derek pushed the digit further inside, and Stiles was worried about all sorts of things he’d never thought about before, and suddenly he felt very exposed and very self-conscious because he really should have thought more about lifting weights instead of playing video games and he was really hoping he had showered well enough that morning. Stiles squirmed on the bed as he tried to get more comfortable, and then Derek added another finger, causing him to hiss in pain.

“Am I hurting you?” Derek asked, and Stiles shook his head even though, yes, yes that did hurt, why did anyone think this was pleasurable? But he didn’t want Derek to stop, not really, because it was _Derek_ and this was _sex_ and Stiles was about to no longer be a _virgin_ at eighteen, which was really a miracle since he was the only fucking one left in the Pack who hadn’t done it. And he was damned if he was going to have them say he chickened out, even if he wasn’t sure when the feeling good was supposed to start, well, feeling good.

“Breathe,” Derek instructed, and Stiles breathed, which helped a little as Derek’s fingers slid more easily inside him. And hey, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was Derek, and Derek was great, and he was just about to tell him that when he involuntarily contracted around Derek’s fingers, causing Derek’s eyes to flash red for a moment. And that, while hot, Stiles had to admit, also freaked him out because he had a flash of claws that had sunk into the mattress a moment ago, he could still see the holes in the comforter, claws that came from fingers that were now in Stiles’ ass. And while he trusted Derek with his life and knew he would never wolf out and impale Stiles, the thought was there and aggravated the already crazy nerves.

“We can stop,” Derek said, but Stiles grabbed his arm and held it there.

“No, I want this. I want you.” He smiled because he meant it, and Derek leaned down to kiss him as pulled out his fingers and slicked his cock. He positioned himself at Stiles’ entrance, and Stiles was excited because it was finally going to happen. He nearly vibrated with uncoiled energy, his cock hard again in anticipation. He nodded, and Derek pushed against his entrance slowly.

When the head of Derek’s cock breached the ring of muscle, Stiles cried out in pain. And Derek immediately pulled out. “No,” Stiles breathed, trying to ignore the slight burn and his hitched breath, “Keep going. Please.” Derek looked hesitant, but he complied, pushing in again, just slightly less painful. Derek’s cock stretched him and it was so much larger than his two fingers, and when Derek was about half-way Stiles shook his head. “Stop. It hurts. Just…” Derek pulled out before Stiles could finish his thought, and Stiles wanted to die of shame. “I’m sorry. It just hurt. I…maybe we didn’t use enough fingers?”

Stiles couldn’t read the look on Derek’s face, but he knew it wasn’t good. Derek had enough guilt, he didn’t need to feel guilty about this. “Hey,” Stiles said, crawling up and kissing him, “let’s at least get you off, okay?” He wrapped his fingers around Derek’s cock, pumping his fist slowly at first, but then speeding up after he got used to the feel.

Derek leaned against the headboard, his face pulled almost into a grimace, and Stiles tried everything he could think of to please him – rubbing the tip with his thumb, sliding the foreskin over the head, playing with his balls, speeding up, slowing down, squeezing him harder. But no matter what he did, Derek wouldn’t come.

“Stiles, stop,” Derek finally said after torturously long minutes, Stiles’ arm tired and worn out. 

“But…you didn’t come.” Derek stared at the bed, and Stiles felt the sting of rejection and failure. He was so inept, maybe even so undesirable, that he couldn’t even make Derek come. And Derek had got him off with just one touch. 

Stiles rolled away, trying to shield his embarrassment. “Maybe…maybe this was a bad idea,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. Stiles glanced at him sharply, expecting Derek to reassure him, not to agree. “Maybe it was.” Stiles watched as Derek got off the bed and pulled his jeans over the swell of his ass. 

*

Derek wasn’t surprised this turned out to be a colossal fucking disaster. 

Dating wasn’t exactly Derek’s forte, if his limited and disastrous experience indicated anything. He’d tried to get past the Kate thing, and was doing a damn good job he thought, all things considered, but dating wasn’t something that Derek did. Dating required him to go out, required him to talk to people, required him to pretend he cared about what someone did for a living or what kind of music they liked. It required Derek to trust people, so Derek remained single. He thought about fucking people randomly, had even gone out with that express purpose, but the thought of some stranger, letting them that close – that didn’t do it for him either.

Instead, Derek spent the past two years with his Pack, getting to know them, fighting with them, and learning to trust them. The Pack had become his family.

But this was Stiles; Stiles was different, not a stranger, and thanks to Stiles’ relentless idle chatter, Derek already knew what kind of music he liked and what his hobbies were. He was pretty sure Stiles’ number one hobby was annoying Derek, which had landed both of them in this situation.

It had started like this: Derek opened a garage. After the Alpha Pack left, after his own Pack solidified, after he settled into the loft, Derek decided he needed something to do.

“You can’t just sit around and brood, even if it is what you’re best at,” Stiles had said. “You have a particular talent for it. Not everyone can brood like you. Most people don’t put their whole body into it, get the shoulders just right, the set of your mouth, and the stare. The stare sells it.” When Derek had set that stare onto Stiles, Stiles had just grinned triumphantly.

Derek liked working on cars, had been doing it his whole life, so it made the most sense. He purchased the empty warehouse down the street from the loft and opened within a few months. The job allowed him to work near home, keep his own hours, and most importantly, work alone. 

It took Isaac a full two weeks of awkwardly hanging around before asking him for a job, which made Derek just roll his eyes and hand him a wrench. Derek spent a couple of months teaching Isaac enough of the basics about cars so that he could be helpful, and Derek had even offered Boyd a job if he wanted to leave the ice rink. Boyd declined, and Stiles joked that it was because he liked riding the Zamboni too much.

Stiles and Scott hung around the garage most afternoons. Derek found himself teaching them as much as he did Isaac, though Derek realized early on they didn’t care about cars. Derek suspected Scott just wanted to be around Isaac, and Stiles just wanted to annoy the shit out of Derek.

“I want to help,” Stiles said one night. He held a socket wrench in his hand and looked determined. “Tell me what to do.”

“See that stool in the corner?” Stiles nodded eagerly. “Go sit on it and don’t move.”

“Aww, Derek, come on. I want to learn how to, I dunno, fix a carburetor or something.”

Derek wiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead. He was covered in grease, his wife beater ruined. “Do you even know how to change a tire?”

“Yes, smart ass.”

Some nights, after Isaac and Scott left, Stiles hung around. Derek showed him how to change spark plugs, replace a battery, and other simple tasks, Stiles pressed against his side, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder as he watched. 

“Why a garage?” Stiles asked one afternoon as Derek worked on the fuel system on a truck.

“Why not?” Derek asked, arms extended above him under the lifted truck.

“Because it’s just a weird job. Who wakes up one morning and thinks, I’ll open a garage today. No one.”

“You do realize I had a life once,” Derek craned his neck to look at Stiles briefly before looking back up at the underside of the truck. “My dad liked cars. I grew up working on them with him. Then, when Laura and I moved to New York, I went to technical school.”

“That’s…that’s really cool, Derek.”

One day, Derek finally relented and told Stiles he’d let him help with something on a car. Derek lay down on the mat and scooted underneath the car. “Come on, I’ll show you what to do.” Under the car, Derek waited, but Stiles never joined him. He twisted around until his head was peeking from underneath the raised sedan.

“What are you waiting for?”

Stiles looked terrified, his heart pounding. Derek’s brow creased in worry. 

“I…um…I saw a guy. Once. When the kanima…” Stiles trailed off and everything clicked into place for Derek. He hadn’t known that, but it made sense.

“I won’t let anything crush you, Stiles. You can trust me.” Derek lay on the floor, looking up at Stiles, and waited. After a few moments, Stiles slowly sat down beside Derek, his heart jackhammering in his chest. Derek placed a hand on his neck before Stiles lay down and slid underneath the car beside him.

Eventually, he showed Stiles how to change oil, which was a bad idea. They both ended up covered in it, but Stiles was just laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen and Derek couldn’t help but succumb to Stiles’ infectious and slightly intoxicating laugh. And when Stiles stood up and stripped off his soiled shirt and hoodie, Derek couldn’t deny the obvious any longer – he had developed feelings for Stiles.

Stiles started spending a few evenings a week at Derek’s loft, working on bestiaries and other supernatural related things. Derek cooked while Stiles worked on the couch, rambling to Derek as he chopped vegetables and seasoned chicken. 

“Scott and Allison broke up _again._ I think it’s for good this time. I hope it’s for good – not that I don’t like Allison, because I totally like Allison, but I’m so sick of listening to Scott whine about it.”

Sometimes, Derek talked. 

“I got to work on a Corvette today. You should have seen the engine.”

Derek learned that Stiles didn’t like English peas, but he loved brussel sprouts, that he preferred fish to chicken. Derek tweaked his recipes based on Stiles’ preferences, because Derek enjoyed food regardless.

Derek was lying underneath a car, fixing a transmission, when he realized he was in love with Stiles. Stiles had been at the loft almost every day that week, and that particular evening Stiles was in the garage, sitting at the workbench working on a paper. He was muttering a mixture of lines from the books he was researching, reciting lines he was typing out loud, humming and singing, and rambling random things about school and lacrosse. Derek felt the overactivity coursing through Stiles’ body, felt the familiar struggle to focus, and found the idle chatter comforting as he worked. He absently thought about what to cook the two of them for dinner, wondering if Stiles would like a casserole or pasta, when the realization finally hit him.

He was in love with Stiles. And had been for quite some time.

Derek should have known it the moment he started remembering everything Stiles told him – and Stiles told him a lot. Derek remembered when Stiles fell out of love with Lydia, remembered when Stiles had a crush on the girl in his geography class in the 11th grade, Miranda with the perfect blonde curls. He hadn’t forgotten the weeks where Stiles sat in silence on his couch, staring absently at the television as he chewed on the cuff of his hoodie, a sea of emotions rolling off him as he tried to figure something out. Then randomly one night, he turned to Derek during a Discovery Channel show on Asian monkeys and said, “I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.” 

“Okay.” Derek nodded, and he felt the relief wash over Stiles. He let Stiles steal the remote and barely gave him any grief when he turned it to some stupid low-budget science fiction movie. Derek wasn’t surprised Stiles was bisexual – he’d always suspected it, but he thought that Scott’s new relationship with Isaac gave Stiles the courage to finally admit it.

Derek felt the sadness mixed with happiness that Stiles felt when Scott and Isaac got together, and he was surprised by how effective Stiles was able to mask all his feelings and just act happy around his friends. But when he was with Derek, when he let his guard down, Derek felt the pent up sadness and jealousy covering him. It made Derek want to hold Stiles and shake him at the same time because Derek wasn’t stupid, he could see how Stiles and Scott’s relationship had changed over the past year and a half.

Stiles didn’t know how closely Derek watched him, when they were in the garage, in Pack meetings, cooking dinner, sitting side by side on the couch, watching TV. He memorized everything about Stiles, the soft fan of his eyelashes across his cheeks, the way he chewed his lip when he studied, the sound of his voice when he whispered something to Derek when they were sitting side by side on the couch. Derek soon realized that Stiles had no self-confidence, didn’t understand the grace in his long fingers, the charm in his awkward body, the sensuality in the curve of his lips.

Derek talked himself out of kissing Stiles a thousand times. There were moments when Stiles touched him briefly, or crept into his space, leaned against him while he was cooking or laid underneath a car while Derek worked. Derek would respond by touching Stiles’ neck when he walked by him sitting at the workbench, would step closer when Stiles was in his space, elbow him gently in the ribs while he looked over his shoulder or let Stiles lay beside him as he worked on a motor. And each of those moments made Derek want to kiss him, made him want it so badly he almost gave into the wolf and took what he wanted. But this was Stiles, and he had to tread very carefully. The last thing Derek wanted was another romantic disaster.

And then one day he kissed him. The day wasn’t special – Derek couldn’t remember anything about it, except that it was early spring – and Stiles stretched with a loud noise, his shirt riding up just a little to expose a bit of pale flesh, and when he turned towards Derek, Derek kissed him. And to Derek’s surprise, Stiles kissed him back. 

Derek wanted to take it slow, but when he rubbed his thumb down the sole of Stiles’ foot that day a few weeks later, he hadn’t expected the moan Stiles emitted. And he didn’t expect it to go straight to his cock. Derek had been celibate too long, nothing but his own hand to satisfy himself, and the thought of Stiles moaning under him had been too much. And there was no way he was going to be able to ignore or deny the desire oozing from Stiles.

Derek savored the removal of Stiles’ clothes, going too slowly for both of them but wanting to enjoy every moment, every bit of flesh. With each bit of Stiles he saw, his cock hardened and his blood rushed through his veins. And when he finally tugged off Stiles’ boxers, his senses bombarded with the musk of desire and sex and _Stiles_ , it had taken Derek by surprise so badly the wolf momentarily took over. He pressed himself flat against the wall, his shame and frustration second only to the fear rolling off of Stiles. And at that moment, Derek wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Stiles tried to make it better with a joke in true Stiles fashion, but it just twisted the knife deeper. When Derek gained control, he was nervous and preoccupied. But then Stiles came prematurely with just one touch, and Derek found it both endearing and indicative of the night they were having. 

Derek wasn’t sure if he should continue, but Stiles didn’t seem ready to give up, so Derek slicked his fingers and slid one inside Stiles, unable to enjoy the delicious feel of Stiles around him because he didn’t have to be a werewolf to see the discomfort and anxiety coming off him in waves. And when Stiles hissed in pain, Derek knew he was the most selfish bastard on the planet. “Am I hurting you?” he’d asked. They shouldn’t be doing this, but Stiles held onto his wrist, so Derek told him to breathe, and then Stiles relaxed. Stiles actually began to enjoy himself as Derek’s fingers slid in and out of him, and he looked so beautiful spread out for Derek, a flush creeping up his chest and highlighting his cheeks. Derek felt something inside of him open that he hadn’t felt for a long time – if he’d ever felt it before – and then Derek hooked his fingers and Stiles contracted around him. His eyes flashed red briefly, and Stiles of course was looking at him. And then Derek felt his fear.

“We can stop,” Derek said, about to remove his fingers, but Stiles stilled his hand. He was one part guilty, one part terrified, but he said, “No, I want this. I want you.” When Stiles smiled, Derek wanted to protect him from everything, even himself, and he kissed him and pushed his cock slowly inside. Stiles was tight, his body unrelenting, and when he cried out in pain, Derek wanted to erase this night from memory. But Stiles told him to keep going, so against his better judgment, Derek pushed in too slowly, barely registering the tight way Stiles felt around his cock because he knew it was painful for him, and was just about to pull out when Stiles said, “Stop. It hurts.” And Derek hated himself more than he had in a long time.

Derek didn’t hear much of anything else, he was trying to tell himself these things happen – people have bad sex, don’t they? Not everyone’s first time is perfect. But Derek couldn’t imagine a worse disaster than this. But then Stiles was kissing him, sweet and excited, and he wrapped his fingers around Derek’s cock and jacked him off. But Derek couldn’t let himself go enough to get into it. Stiles’ fingers quickly figured out what to do, but Derek kept thinking about hurting Stiles, the sound of him hissing in pain, the look on his face. All because of Derek.

Stiles jerked Derek for so long his shaft started to feel raw, so Derek said, “Stiles, stop.” The wave of rejection hit Derek like a wall, and Stiles rolled away from him. Derek was reaching out, about to comfort him and apologize and do whatever it took to get Stiles to stop feeling like that, to stop looking like that, when Stiles said, “Maybe…maybe this was a bad idea.”

The words hit Derek like a punch to the gut. He’d done what he feared – he fucked everything up with Stiles. 

“Yeah. Maybe it was.” Derek got off the bed and tugged on his jeans without looking back at Stiles.

*

Stiles wanted to call Derek as soon as he left the loft. Derek had disappeared upstairs, and Stiles didn’t see him again as he hastily tugged on his clothes and rushed out. In his jeep, he had wanted to pick up his cell phone and tell him to open the door and let him in, that he was wrong. But instead, he tossed and turned all night, angry at himself for being such an idiot. In all of Stiles’ fantasies, he and Derek would just fit together perfectly like it was fucking meant to be or some shit. Stiles didn’t know when he had turned into a romantic idiot – Oh god, what had Derek Hale done to him?? He was never admitting that to anyone ever, nope, no way.

Except he totally admitted it to Scott the next morning in the parking lot before school.

“It was a disaster,” Stiles whined. “I won’t give you any details.”

“I thank you for that.”

“But the lite version featured the glorious confirmation that I’m an undersexed teenage virgin by coming at an embarrassingly quick rate and fangs and claws and pain and dude, it was awful.” He dropped his head and banged it on the steering wheel.

Scott looked at him with a mixture of horror, sympathy, and amusement. “Dude, that sucks. I’m sorry. But it’s not the end of the world.”

“I told him maybe we were a bad idea. I mean, we can’t even get the basic sex stuff right.”

“So, you’re just gonna give it up because you came too early and Derek wolfed out?” Scott shook his head. “When I first got with Allison, I almost wolfed out on her. And the first time Isaac and I – “

“Whoa! Do I need to hear this?”

“Let’s just say it took us a lot of messing up and some internet help to figure out what exactly to do.” Scott was blushing slightly and looked at his hands awkwardly.

“How did you and Isaac need the internet to show you – “ Stiles held out his hand and shook his head. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. But still. I mean, it’s Derek. If I can’t make it work with him…” He sighed and shook his head again.

Scott, in a moment of clarity, said, “Are you sure that’s the problem?”

“Of course it’s the problem! What else would be the problem?”

Scott didn’t reply, and Stiles ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Seriously, I don’t think I can face him again. It was so humiliating.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “They say Derek is the emotionally immature one, but you’re giving him a run for his money.” He grabbed his bag and got out of the jeep, leaving Stiles staring after him.

*

The next day, Isaac and Boyd confronted him at lunch. “Stiles, what happened?” Boyd asked.

“Yeah, Derek is miserable. And angrier than usual. Did you two break up?”

“Can’t break up if you never dated,” Stiles said before shoving a potato chip into his mouth.

Isaac and Boyd shared a look. “Dude, you gotta fix it,” Isaac said. “For us.”

“Look, some things just don’t work out. Derek is a big boy. He’ll deal with what I’m sure isn’t a huge disappointment.”

“Stiles, don’t you get – “ Isaac started, but Boyd punched him hard in the arm.

“Don’t I get what?” he asked, looking between them in confusion. “Tired of everyone butting in? Yeah. Just remember that when you break up.”

“Hey!” Scott exclaimed.

“Ignore him,” Isaac said, running a hand quickly over Scott’s arm, “he obviously has no clue about anything.”

*

Stiles never realized just how much time he spent at Derek’s until he was no longer going over there. On the way home from school Thursday afternoon, he found himself absently driving towards the garage. He saw the Camaro parked out front when he drove by, his stomach clenching. He didn’t notice for three blocks that he was driving twenty miles over the speed limit.

When he got home, he blew off homework in favor of sulking in bed. He was frustrated and upset, and yeah, maybe he felt a little (a lot) rejected. Scott didn’t know what he was talking about, what with the whole “It’s not that bad” shit. It was awful. He wanted nothing more than to run to the garage and throw himself at Derek, but then his mind took him back to how that didn’t really work the first time, so why did he think having sex again would fix anything?

Stiles and Derek had fought before. Hell, sometimes Stiles thought that was all that they did. Though, no, lately they stopped being at each other’s throats as much. Sure, they still bickered because Stiles was a dick and liked to mess with Derek, but they actually got along now. Kinda like they enjoyed being around each other.

And this, whatever this was, it wasn’t a fight. Stiles didn’t know what it was. He almost preferred a fight.

About six months ago, Stiles went to the garage after school. The Camaro wasn’t in the lot, but Stiles let himself into the garage anyway to wait on Derek. He dropped his school bag on the floor and went immediately to the fridge in the back. He turned his nose up in disgust at the old take-out containers sitting in the fridge, and after rummaging around, finally found a Coke. Then, he set about poking through the cabinets for something to eat. Stiles found bags of half-eaten chips and boxes of crackers, all stale and old. He left them on the counter to throw away later. He did find a passable jar of peanut butter and decided to eat it straight from the container.

Peanut butter in hand, he poked around the garage, picking up the different tools Derek had taught him the name and use of. He tried to quiz himself. Combination wrench. Air drill. Fluid pump. He picked each one up, turned it over in his hand, and then set it back on the bench before moving to the next one. 

The phone rang, and Stiles ran over to it. He took a message for Derek on a post-it before dragging his book bag over to the cluttered desk. He wiped his hand on his jeans and then stuffed a stack of papers in the first drawer he opened. The he spread out his books and got to work.

Derek returned half an hour later. “Stiles, what are - _Stiles!_ ” Stiles glanced up when he heard Derek growl. He was standing by the door, glaring at him. “What. Is. this?”

“What is what?”

Derek pointed to the bags of chips on the counter, then stalked over and picked up one of the tools laying on the workbench. “There is peanut butter on my air drill.” He threw the drill down so hard it left a dent in the workbench. Stiles flinched. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Stiles felt his face color. “Waiting on you.”

“So you decided to wreak chaos in my place of employment? Leave food on the counters? Get your grubby little peanut butter fingers all over my tools - _where I work_ \- and then move my papers?”

Stiles shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’m sorry. I was actually going to throw all the food away later – it’s all old and nasty anyway – and I didn’t know about the peanut butter. I can clean it up.” 

Derek held up a hand. “Don’t touch anything. You’ve done enough.”

“Dude, I’m sorry. Seriously.”

Derek crossed the garage towards Stiles, his foot hitting Stiles’ backpack. He grabbed it and tossed it at him. “Leave.”

“Oh come on, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not that – “

“Stiles! Get out. I don’t want you here!” 

Stiles felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the garage, slamming the door behind him. He and Derek didn’t talk for two weeks. They hadn’t ever really made up. One day, Isaac and Scott brought Stiles over to the garage, and Derek just treated him with the normal amount of disdain.

But that was different. It was a stupid argument that meant nothing. This…this meant something.

He called Scott two hours later. “What if I have to leave the Pack?” he asked desperately. “I mean, I know I’m the useless human member – “

“You’re not useless, Stiles.”

“And no one would miss me, except for you, and maybe Isaac, but definitely not Derek, so I could live, right? Go off to college, Pack-less, see you and Isaac when I visit. You can be friends with me if I’m not in the Pack, right?”

“How much Adderall have you had today?” Scott asked. 

“Probably not enough,” Stiles replied. “Will you still love me if I’m not Pack?”

Scott groaned. “You don’t have to leave the Pack. Even if you and Derek, I dunno, are awkward as fuck for like six months, it’ll blow over eventually. Chill the fuck out.”

Stiles agreed begrudgingly and hung up, still pouting.

*

Stiles pushed the cart around the corner in the grocery store. His dad had given him a list, most of which Stiles ignored since his father still had no concept of healthy. Stiles distractedly browsed the canned vegetables and didn’t notice Derek standing at the end of the aisle, looking at the shelves, until it was too late. Derek seemed to notice Stiles at the same time, because Stiles saw his shoulders tense before he glanced at him, face stony and cold. Stiles felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

He had one of those deer-in-the-headlight fight-or-flight moments. He could just turn tail and run away – no shame – without saying a word to Derek. Or he could be mature and play it cool and speak to Derek.

Derek chose for him. “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles hesitantly pushed the car forward, and smiled. He could do awkward social interactions; it was his specialty, after all.

“Hey.” He pointed at the can of pizza sauce in Derek’s hand. “Pizza night?” Derek nodded wordlessly. “I love your pizzas.”

“I know.”

Stiles glanced nosily into Derek’s basket and nodded in approval. “Mushrooms, black olives, pepperoni, all great choices. Hey, you forgot the artichokes. Don’t forget the artichokes.”

“I don’t like artichokes.”

“Then why do we always - oh.” Stiles stared at Derek, his heart thumping irregularly in his chest. There was no way Derek didn’t hear it, but his face didn’t change. “Um, enjoy your pizza.” Stiles moved quickly past Derek, not caring if it was obvious that he was trying to get away. He swung the cart around the corner, almost knocking over an old lady. 

Stiles suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He thought about Friday nights at Derek’s loft, sitting on a stool as he sprinkled mushrooms on a pizza with Scott, Isaac and Derek working on the other. He remembered music in the background, loud and annoying, just like Scott liked it, and he remembered watching Derek playfully push Isaac until Isaac pushed him back and laughed. They played video games while they ate, Isaac and Scott on the floor yelling and cursing while Derek and Stiles watched from the couch, arms touching, bare feet resting side by side on the coffee table.

There were other nights, when it was just Stiles and Derek, when they’d made pizzas together. 

“I’m not sure Scott realized just how explosive those chemicals were if you mixed them,” Stiles said, laying pepperoni into the sauce Derek had just spread while Derek washed his fingers. “It was like a cartoon or something. Boyd and I were slo-mo lunging at Scott yelling ‘NOOOOOOO’ as he tipped the bottle. Good thing Boyd has those werewolf reflexes. Saved me loads on plastic surgery.”

Derek coughed out a sound that Stiles believed was a laugh as he began placing artichokes on the pizza. 

Stiles tried to snap himself together. He was standing on the potato chip aisle, all but having a panic attack. Who knew that an artichoke revelation could almost kill you.

*

Derek smelled Stiles before he saw him. The moment Stiles turned the corner, his scent hit Derek like a wave, and the moment Stiles saw him, Derek felt the surge of panic in Stiles. Derek’s heart dropped. This had all turned out very badly. 

This is what Derek had been afraid of. Not the awkward meetings in a small town, but the look of regret in Stiles’ eyes. He looked at Derek like he wished nothing had ever happened – maybe like he wished he’d never even met him.

“Hey, Stiles.” The words almost surprised Derek, escaped from him like he had no control over them. When Stiles came over and glanced into his basket, not even realizing how close he was leaning, Derek couldn’t help but inhale his scent like he was taking a breath for the first time in days. Derek wanted to reach out and touch Stiles, wanted to brush the backs of his fingers across his cheek, feel the heat rise to the surface. Derek wanted to tell Stiles he was sorry, that he was an idiot and it wasn’t a mistake and he wasn’t ready to lose him, too. It was unfair that Derek lost something before he even got it.

But since when had life ever been fair?

“Hey, you forgot the artichokes. Don’t forget the artichokes.”

“I don’t like artichokes.”

“Then why do we always - oh.” Derek felt the change in Stiles’ heartbeat down into the soles of his feet, and he was about to say something – anything – when Stiles murmured, “Um, enjoy your pizza” and raced away.

Derek hated artichokes. Actually, he hated any vegetable on his pizza. The first night they made pizzas, they’d gone to the store with Scott and Isaac because Derek hadn’t had the ingredients.

“You seriously need to learn how to grocery shop,” Stiles had said. “This sad excuse for food in your cabinets and fridge isn’t cutting it.” He slung an arm around Isaac’s shoulder. “Maybe you can teach him.” Derek had wanted to point out that he had the ingredients for _real_ dinners in the pantry, but Stiles had already run away with Isaac and Scott.

Stiles had ridden down the aisles on the cart, his feet planted on the lower bar, hands gripping the handrail, as he rolled by, grinning like an idiot. Scott got on the other end of the cart while Isaac pushed them around, standing behind Stiles with his arms on either side of Stiles’ body as he pushed. Derek hated the ping of jealousy he felt, and he focused instead on his irritation at them, though the joy emanating from all three of them was hard to ignore. 

Derek felt a small fond smile spread across his face – until Stiles suddenly saw something on a shelf he just _had to have_ and spun around, tangling himself against Isaac, who knocked the cart into an older lady when he jerked the cart with a bit of his werewolf strength. The lady yelled at them rudely, and Derek had to cover his mouth to hide his laugh as Stiles righted himself and stared at her terrified while Scott mumbled they were sorry.

Stiles could stare down an Alpha Pack, but an old lady at the supermarket? Not so much.

“Want your balls back?” Derek asked him when he joined them. “I might be able to get them back from her.”

“Dude, she’d give your Alpha glower a run for its money. I bet even Scott and Isaac felt the urge to submit.”

Stiles tossed more ingredients into the cart than Derek ever thought you’d ever need for pizza. “God, Derek, don’t buy premade crust. Ick. Make it, at least with the mix. My culinary skills aren’t quite up to homemade dough yet, though I’d bet you three would be pros at the dough toss.”

Derek dropped pepperoni into the cart, the only real topping in his opinion, but Stiles kept going. 

“Ooh, mushrooms, ah black olives – can’t have pizza without black olives,” then in the produce section, “Green peppers! Tomatoes! Spinach!”

“Is this a pizza or a salad?” Derek asked.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Just because your pallet is unsophisticated from years of eating small, wild animals and bad take out doesn’t mean you get to ruin pizza.” Derek refrained from reminding Stiles that he’d been cooking for him for months.

“It’s impossible to ruin pizza,” Scott said from over where he and Isaac were piling things on the produce scales and laughing. 

“If we’re putting all this crap on, we’re at least also putting sausage,” Derek snapped.

Stiles scrunched his face. “If you could get heart disease, you’d be dead.” 

Scott and Isaac glanced at them over their shoulders, snickering at them as they argued.

Stiles took some perverse pleasure in eating half the ingredients before they were on the pizza. They had to hide the black olives from him before he ate the whole can, and he ate pizza sauce out of the jar with a spoon. Derek watched him in fascination, unaware that people actually did that. 

Then Stiles piled artichokes on the pizza. Scott and Isaac didn’t seem to mind, but Derek hated them. He picked them off and left them on the plate, and Stiles absently reached over and ate them off Derek’s plate while they watched movies or played games. Derek was pretty sure Stiles didn’t even realize he was doing it.

That night, after he got home from the supermarket, Derek ate pizza alone on his couch, a pile of picked off artichokes lying uneaten on his plate.

*

Derek was at the garage, rebuilding a transmission with Isaac when Isaac said, “Why don’t you just talk to him?”

Derek remained silent, staring resolutely at the transmission parts he was fitting together. A few minutes passed before Isaac spoke again.

“Scott told me what happened, and I know Stiles – “

Derek snapped his head up and glared at Isaac, eyes shifting red. Isaac cowered.

“Do you see me butting in to your relationship?” Derek growled. Isaac shook his head and Derek returned his attention back to the transmission.

A few minutes later, Isaac said quietly, “You could, you know. Butt in. I wouldn’t mind.” Derek lifted his eyes and stared at the brown curls on the crown of Isaac’s head. He felt the truth in the statement, and something more. Was that…longing?

“Did – “ Derek cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the question, but felt like it was important nonetheless. “Did your dad used to –“

Isaac cut him off, and Derek didn’t hide huge sigh of relief. “My brother did, but he died when I was so young. It’s not like girls were swarming around on the playground.” Derek felt the familiar mixture of emotions that always flooded Isaac whenever he spoke of his father. “Girls were one of the many things my father found to criticize me about. Once he walked in on me looking at gay porn – “

“Isaac, you don’t – “ Isaac met Derek’s eyes, and Derek felt overwhelmed by the pain in there. 

“He didn’t take it well.” He smiled wryly.

“You should be free to love who you choose, to mate with who you choose. I…I think you and Scott…um…make a, um, nice couple.”

The smile on Isaac’s face was worth the awkwardness Derek felt. He steeled himself – why was this big brother role so hard for him? Had it been that long since cousins and Laura and other siblings – and yes, Derek realized, it had been that long. He tried to relax and pull from a deep part of himself he’d nearly forgotten about. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Come to find out, there was. Isaac talked to Derek for the next three hours as they worked on the transmission. He talked about Scott, some of the problems they had (though Derek couldn’t imagine them having problems). He asked Derek a few awkward sex questions, though Derek didn’t really have good advice. Not like he was any kind of sexual god, which surprised Isaac when he admitted that.

“I guess that makes sense,” Isaac said thoughtfully.

“How so?” Derek snapped, eyebrows raised.

“Um, Scott said Stiles said you had disastrous sex and weren’t meant to be or something. He thinks you’re like not interested in him or rejected him. I’m not sure – this is all like third hand from Scott.”

Derek blinked. “Rejected? Not inter – this is what this is about??” Derek yelled. “For fuck’s sake, Stiles,” he muttered to himself.

“Do you need to talk now?” 

Derek glared at Isaac. Isaac just smirked.

*

Sometimes, Derek hated Stiles. Stiles got under his skin and grated on his nerves until Derek wanted to never even hear the sound of his voice again. Like over the summer when Stiles decided that he would spend every day at the garage.

Isaac was there because he worked there, who knew why Stiles was there, and Scott was there because Stiles and Isaac were there. Stiles decided it was okay to sit on Derek’s desk, all over his papers.

“This isn’t your house,” Derek growled and pushed Stiles off the desk. He tumbled to the floor, falling gracelessly on his ass. 

“That hurt, asswipe.” He stood up and indicated his body. “Breakable Stiles here. Handle with care.” Derek rolled his eyes.

The next day, Stiles was sitting on a work bench, tossing a ball back and forth with Scott. Derek didn’t say anything because they were on the other side of the garage, and at least Stiles was relatively still. But then Stiles threw too wide, and Scott missed it because he was distracted by Isaac. It knocked over a stack of oil cans. Derek threw his wrench down and stomped over to them, eyes glowing red. Scott looked sheepish, and Stiles just rolled his eyes.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” Derek spat angrily.

Scott and Isaac both stared motionless, but Stiles had the gall to get mad. At Derek. In his own garage.

“Dude, I’m sorry, okay? It’s not that big of a deal. I’ll clean it up, okay?”

“Get. OUT!” Derek roared, fangs and claws extending. Stiles still rolled his eyes, but he left without a word, followed closely by Scott. Isaac was too afraid to say anything for the rest of the day.

Derek felt a little guilty for snapping at them, but no one could grate on his nerves like Stiles. And Stiles just didn’t know when to quit. 

The next day around midday, Stiles showed up alone. He silently restacked the oil cans, and Derek didn’t want to think about how pleased he was when Stiles appeared in his stupid red graphic tee, hair unruly like he’d just rolled out of bed (which sent Derek’s mind in all the wrong directions). Then Stiles disappeared. Derek didn’t think too much about it, just hummed contently to himself with the feel and scent of Stiles so strong and nearby. 

When Derek finally finished rotating the tires for his morning appointment, he walked towards the office area in the back corner. Where Stiles had completely cleaned and organized his desk, and was currently talking on the phone while organizing invoices. Derek’s eyes were large, and he was somewhere in between annoyed and shocked.

Stiles glanced through Derek’s appointment book. “Tomorrow at ten? Great. See you then, Mr. Lewis.” Stiles set the receiver on the hook and gave Derek a complacent grin. “That was Mr. Lewis. He’s bringing his car in for over $1000 of repairs. You’re welcome. I take payment in the form of cash, check, Amazon credit, or curly fries. But mostly money.”

Derek stared in disbelief. “I’ve been trying to get him to come in for months. How did you – “

“The old Stilinski charm.” He leaned back in the chair, laced his fingers behind his head, and then almost toppled over. Derek smirked.

“Very smooth.”

Derek really hated when Stiles used his mouth in everyday situations like it was trained in a porno. He’d be watching Derek do something at the garage, or cook, and he’d lick his lips sensuously like he was doing it just for Derek’s benefit. And the problem was that Stiles had no clue what he was doing. Like when he chewed his lips in concentration, plump pink flesh trapped between those teeth, worrying them red until Derek could only think about the way those lips would taste under his tongue, would look wrapped around his cock, or the way his own lips (or skin) would feel between those teeth. 

Or when Stiles would shove whatever was nearby into his mouth – pen, highlighter, cuff. He shoved the object in and out of his mouth, his tongue circling it filthily. Once Derek dropped the wrench he was holding when Stiles’ wet, pink tongue licked his finger into his mouth. Derek grabbed the wrench in frustration, images of his own fingers or other body parts in Stiles’ mouth flashing through his mind.

Derek knew Stiles had no idea – there wasn’t anything other than the low level hum of constant arousal that emanated from Stiles. Derek tried not to think about what that mouth could do if it was conscious of what it was doing.

Sometimes, Derek actually hated Stiles. Like when he’d run head first into danger, disobeying every order and bit of common sense Derek yelled at him. Beacon Hills had calmed down a lot the last year or so, but if there was danger around, Stiles would find it. Like when those leech-like beings had attacked, _not vampires, dammit,_ Stiles had said, half-drained of blood at the time. Derek hated Stiles because his heartbeat was so faint, his face so ashen. He’d stayed by Stiles all night that night in Deaton’s office, where the vet had set up a blood transfusion for Stiles. Derek had hated the way Stiles smelled different and wrong for weeks afterwards. 

The sheriff had been there too, never leaving Stiles’ other side and never commenting about the fact that Derek held Stiles’ hand for half the night. Stiles had muttered incoherently, snatches of dreams and phrases, and Derek tried to convince himself that he imagined it when he’d said Derek’s name and squeezed his hand lightly.

And Derek hated Stiles right now, and his stupid stupid idea that Derek had rejected him and didn’t want him. He didn’t know how, but he was going to have to fix it.

*

Sometimes, Stiles hated Derek. Sometimes Derek made Stiles so angry that he wanted to punch him in the face, if he wasn’t so scared of breaking his hand. Like the look Derek always gave him when Stiles tried to make a joke. He’d execute it perfectly, sarcastic delivery and everything, but Derek would just narrow his eyes a fraction and glare at him. Like he had no sense of humor at all (Stiles was pretty sure he didn’t).

Well, if Stiles was fair (which, to be honest, he rarely was), Derek had a pretty wicked sense of humor, much more like his than Scott or Isaac’s. Scott and Isaac were dumb – they would sit around and fart and laugh about it for hours (and while Stiles obviously found fart jokes funny – who didn’t? – he felt his comedic taste was much more sophisticated). Derek didn’t find fart jokes funny at all (because – hello? – sense of humor needed), and he’d just roll his eyes and huff at them in irritation. No, Derek didn’t do stupid toilet humor. Derek was sarcastic and witty; it was dry humor. And once he realized that, Stiles found Derek pretty freaking hysterical, actually.

But then sometimes, Derek would surprise all three of them by randomly making a joke. 

“I’m the only human member in the Pack,” Stiles was saying one day at the garage. Isaac was working underneath a car, Derek was changing oil, and he was doing homework because Scott was at work. “So, I’m not a Beta. Or just a plain human. What am I?”

“Other than annoying?” Derek asked.

“Maybe you are a Beta,” Isaac suggested from underneath the car.

“I don’t feel the urge to submit although I’m part of the Pack.” Stiles thumped his pen against his book. 

“A were-person? A person-wolf? Werewolf ally? Pack human?” Isaac listed off.

“Pack man,” Derek said, laughing to himself. Isaac rolled out from under the car, and he and Stiles just stared at Derek. “What?”

“Was that a _joke_?” Stiles asked. Stiles thought it was cute how Derek’s ears turned slightly pink. 

Isaac giggled. “Pack man, Pac Man, I get it! That’s hilarious.” He laughed as he went back under the car.

“It’s really not,” Stiles said, but he was laughing despite himself.

Yeah, maybe he hated Derek and how his ears turned pink when he made jokes, mainly because Derek’s jokes were really lame. And totally not funny. Or adorable.

Stiles decided it was his mission to bring a little excitement and humor to the garage, so he’d perch himself on his usual workbench near wherever Derek was working and start trying to make them laugh. Because that place was the drabbest of the drab: gray walls and gray floors and oil and iron and car parts everywhere.

“It is a garage, Stiles,” Derek sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, would it kill you to put up a nice picture or a bright color?” Derek did not approve of that suggestion and made sure Stiles got it by coming over and slapping him on the back of the head. 

“It wasn’t that bad of an idea,” Stiles said, rubbing where his head stung.

Derek didn’t appreciate the little touches Stiles made to brighten up the garage. A poster on the wall here, a gaudy bright red statue on his desk he’d bought at the Good Will. Both the poster and the statue ended up in the trash.

But Derek left the bright bouquet of flowers Stiles left on the counter by the door. “I guess it’s inviting,” Derek grudgingly said.

“Just go ahead and admit that I’m always right,” Stiles said with a grin. 

“How do you put up with him?” Derek grumbled to Isaac and Scott.

After that, Scott and Stiles bought a yellow couch at the Good Will and placed it in the garage’s office corner when Derek wasn’t there.

“Derek’s gonna kill you,” Isaac said, coming over and kissing Scott quickly as Stiles stood with his arms crossed, admiring his work

“I need somewhere comfy to sit, and who wouldn’t love a yellow velvet couch from the 1970s? It’s awesome! Plus, it’s not _that_ different than the blue one in the loft.” 

“Oh, I think Derek will see a significant difference between this couch and his beloved ragged out blue one,” Isaac said. “It is pretty fucking comfortable though.” He went over and jumped on the new couch, stretching out comfortably. “This is pretty nice. I think – “

At that moment, the door clanged open and Derek stormed towards them seconds later. “What. In the hell. Is that thing?”

“Hey, don’t talk about Isaac that way. He’s a person, Derek, he – “ Derek rounded on Stiles, and he shut up.

“Get it out of my garage. This is not somebody’s bedroom.”

“We need a couch!” Stiles argued.

“We?”

“It is comfortable, Derek.” Derek rounded on Isaac, who cowered on the couch.

“You don’t want me sitting on the bench, don’t want me on your desk, Scott and Isaac need somewhere to sit. Plus,” Stiles said, pointing at it, “How _awesome_ is that thing?”

“Why do I even keep talking to you three?” Derek grumbled as he stomped away. He never got rid of it, but he complained about it every day.

Stiles really hated Derek when he walked around the garage in tight wife beaters that clung to his ridiculously muscled chest and left his arms bare so that Stiles could do nothing but stare at the curve in his biceps and think about how the skin would feel beneath his fingers. He also hated how sexy he looked with grease smeared across his face and arms, sweat glistening on his dirty skin. Stiles wanted to lick the sweat off as he left fingerprints in the grease.

Or when Derek would walk around the loft shirtless, or in thin pajama pants and soft t-shirts that Stiles just wanted to curl his fingers into. He knew it was weird, but Stiles thought that Derek was the sexiest at night in the loft, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, wearing a long sleep t-shirt and no socks, his hair flat and messy on his head. He looked so different, so relaxed, less put together with no hair gel or leather or dark colors. Stiles found he preferred Derek in forest green because it brought out his eyes.

Sometimes, Stiles actually hated Derek. Like when Derek came back from a fight, ripped apart and bleeding. Or like the time that wendigo sliced Derek’s belly open so badly Stiles was pretty sure he’d seen Derek’s spleen. Derek had charged in there head first, determined to protect his Pack, and got himself sliced up. Scott, Isaac, and Boyd had reassured Stiles over and over that Derek would heal and be fine. But Stiles saw _internal organs_ and there was so much _blood_ and that just wasn’t normal, even for a werewolf. Stiles hated Derek because he wasn’t moving, he was barely breathing, and he looked dead.

Stiles had stayed at Deaton’s all night, waiting for Derek to heal himself. He stared at the gashes on Derek’s torso until he got sick and threw up in the trashcan in the corner, and then he sat back on the stool and stared at the gashes some more, willing them to close up. _A watched pot never boils_ , his mother’s voice rang out in his head. _What’s that even mean?_ he’d always responded, never getting what she meant. But he knew now, so Stiles laid his head on Derek’s shoulder and closed his eyes, face pressed into his musky skin, calmed by the almost imperceptible sound of Derek’s breathing.

Stiles awoke with a crick in his neck and Derek’s fingers brushing lightly through his hair.

*

When his phone rang, Stiles looked at it in shock. He was lying in bed, watching some TV before falling asleep.

“Derek?” he answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you think I rejected you?”

Stiles gaped at the opposite wall, glad Derek couldn’t see his expression. “Way to bury the lead there. Come again?”

Slowly, Derek repeated, “Do you think I rejected you?” 

“Where did this come from?”

“Answer the question.”

“I – shit. Stupid Scott and stupid Isaac,” Stiles muttered. “Yes. You rejected me.”

“I didn’t reject you, Stiles,” Derek said quietly. 

Stiles shifted on his bed angrily. “Yes, you did. You left. You got up, put your pants on, and left me there. What was I supposed to think?”

“You said it was a bad idea!” Derek responded.

“I didn’t mean it!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Because you should have!”

“I wasn’t going to force anything else on you – “

“You didn’t force anything on me at all,” Stiles said, confused. “What did you force me to do?”

“Obviously, we weren’t ready for that, and I – “

“Derek, stop right there.” Stiles was surprised when Derek actually did. “Believe me. Having sex with you? Nobody forced me to do that.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Stiles settled back against his pillows and rubbed his hand over his face. He heard Derek sigh on the other end. “This is just a fucking mess, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” 

They were quiet for a few moments, the only sound their steady breathing and the television in the background. 

“What if,” Stiles started, not really wanting to have this conversation, “what if we’re not compatible? I mean, what if we’re just attracted to one another because there’s no one else and it’s all a big mistake? I mean, have you had this much trouble before? It seems sex should be – “

“You’re asking me?” Derek scoffed, and Stiles felt a little guilty for bringing it up. “I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings,” Stiles said. “Tell me about all the perfect and wonderful sex you’ve had.”

“After Kate…it just always seemed like too much trouble.”

“Still is, apparently,” Stiles mumbled. 

“Maybe we just went about it wrong,” Derek said.

“Oh, and what can we do differently?” Stiles retorted. “Last time I looked – which was pretty recently, like a few hours ago, by the way – we went about it the most standard way.”

“Maybe it was too fast.” Derek’s voice sounded thoughtful. “Like, maybe I should have kissed you longer, touched you, ran my hands down your sides while I licked at your nipples.”

Stiles’ cock began to harden as Derek spoke. “Derek?” He hastily found the remote and turned down the television volume.

“I could have slipped my hand inside your boxers, jacked you off, felt your hot cock in my hand and gotten used to it so I wouldn’t have been so surprised and wolfed out.”

Stiles moaned. “Fuck Derek, are you doing what I think you’re doing?” Stiles heard some movement on the other end of the line, and then Derek made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. “Please tell me you’re touching yourself.” Stiles palmed himself through his pajama pants and waited.

“Yes. I’m sitting on my couch with those green plaid sleep pants you love so much pushed to my knees.”

“Oh fuck, I gotta catch up.” Derek laughed softly as Stiles leapt off the bed and locked his bedroom door. His dad was downstairs, probably not moving from the baseball game on TV, but just in case. 

“Tell me,” Derek said, voice low and husky as Stiles crawled back onto the bed. It made Stiles’ body tingle. 

“I’m going to sound so stupid,” Stiles said, laying back.

“I don’t care. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I pulled my dick out of my boxers. It’s already hard.”

Derek grunted, and Stiles started rubbing himself slowly. “Tell me what you want to do to me, Derek. What could you have done to me?”

“I’d wrap my fingers around your cock and jack you for a bit, but not let you come.”

“Fuck Derek, your voice.”

“I love the way you say my name,” Derek said. “I want you to moan it while you’re under me.”

“With your hard cock sliding into my ass.”

“God, you’d be so tight.”

“And you’d just stretch and fill me until I couldn’t feel anything but you.”

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek moaned, and Stiles heard the phone rustle slightly. 

“Are you jacking off?” Stiles asked, his brain trying to conjure an image to match the sounds Derek was making. He was afraid he might short circuit before the phone call ended. 

“Yes. Are you?”

“Fuck yeah.” Stiles tightened his fingers around his cock. “I wish I could see you, with those fucking fingers around your cock, your head thrown back, your eyes closed. I want to watch you touch yourself. God, you’d be fucking gorgeous.”

“Not as gorgeous as you’d be riding my cock,” Derek breathed. “I’d love to lay back as you just rode me, your skin flushed pink, your cock red and leaking and begging to be touched, but I wouldn’t touch it, not yet.”

“Your mouth, Derek, fuck I’d never have known.”

“Tell me what you want, Stiles,” Derek moaned. “What do you fantasize about?”

“Oh god, you saying that is pretty close to the top.” Stiles had to remove his fingers for a moment, to collect himself before he came everywhere, and all of this was too good to end just yet. “I want you on your knees between my legs, sucking my cock.”

“Fuck, yes. I bet you taste amazing,” Derek said.

Stiles had to breathe deeply, concentrate. He couldn’t believe that Derek – _Derek_ \- was saying these things. “I’d love to get my fingers in your hair, grip it as I fucked your mouth, and you’d just take it, swallow my cock down.”

“Stiles, yes,” Derek moaned, and Stiles heard his breathing get heavier.

“Don’t come yet,” Stiles ordered, surprising himself. 

“Don’t say things like that. You sound so hot like that,” Derek nearly growled.

Stiles smiled, his confidence growing. He said quietly, “Do you want to know what I really want you to do?”

Derek made a small sound and croaked out, “Yes.”

“I’ve thought about your tongue in my ass. I want you to spread my cheeks and lick my ass and fuck me with your tongue.” Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles started to get nervous, his previous confidence quickly vanished. “Um, I mean, you don’t have to. I know that’s not everyone’s thing and – “

“It’s not that,” Derek said, his voice sounding thin and choked.

“Did…did you wolf out?”

“A little.”

“Oh god, that is so hot.”

“I thought it scared you.”

“It did, at first. It just freaked me out because it was unexpected. But Derek, do you know what your red eyes do to me?”

“What do they do to you, Stiles?” Derek growled, his words muffled slightly, Stiles guessed, by his fangs.

“They go straight to my dick. I’d love you to fuck me with those eyes. Bend me over a table and fuck me so hard I couldn’t talk.”

“Stiles, fuck, I…I’m going to come soon.” Stiles wrapped his fist back around his cock and started pumping. “Are you jacking yourself off?”

“Yes.”

“I wish it was my hand.”

“I wish it was your hand, too.”

“Tell me how you like it,” Derek said, voice breathy and Stiles barely registered that he was hearing Derek’s fucking sex voice right now. It was awesome. “How do you touch yourself?”

“Fast, long strokes, my fingers tight around my dick.” Stiles imitated his words. “What do you like?”

“Sliding my foreskin back and forth over my head and then pulling it back completely and rubbing my thumb around the head.” Stiles moaned, thinking around Derek doing that, doing that to him. “Stiles, I’m close…”

“Me, too,” Stiles said, tightening him fingers and speeding up his wrist as he pumped his cock. He heard Derek’s heavy breathing, each inhale and exhale like a soft touch against his neck, his cock. Then, he heard Derek growl and then moan deep and low, and the sound was just enough to push him over the edge. He was usually quiet when he masturbated, but with Derek on the phone, he let himself moan aloud. More loudly than he intended, too. He really hoped his dad was asleep by now.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek said. “I wish I could see you, covered in come. In my come. I’d love to lick it off you, see you lick it off my fingers.”

Stiles groaned and reached over to his bedside table for the tissues. “Derek. Just. What the fuck was that?”

“Proof that maybe this can work.”

“Such an optimistic, Derek. Who would have known?” Stiles smiled, feeling sleepy and content for the first time in days.

*

Derek pulled the Camaro behind the garage so he could wash it. He’d felt restless all day and still couldn’t quite calm the uncoiled energy under his skin; he usually only felt this on edge near the full moon. He’d fallen asleep after hanging up with Stiles the night before, but he’d slept fitfully. Already today, he’d gone for a ten mile run, did more than his usual number of push ups and pull ups, and got caught up on everything at the garage. And now he was going to wash his car.

Derek couldn’t get Stiles’ voice out of his head, so breathy and low as he self-consciously told Derek what he wanted him to do to him. It had been a long time since Derek had come that hard, and it was from Stiles’ fucking voice. He just needed to touch Stiles, smell him, kiss him, taste him – be with him anyway Stiles would let him. He just needed to be near him.

“There you are,” Isaac said as he came around the back of the building after school. He grabbed a sponge from one of the buckets and started washing.

Isaac told Derek about his day, about the A he got on his test, the note Scott left in his locker, the flat tire he got on his bicycle which caused him to walk all the way home. Derek lifted his eyes and watched Isaac as he talked, noticing how much he’d grown up the last few years, how much more confident and open he was. How much _happier_ he was. Isaac was talking about replacing his bicycle tire when a thought occurred to Derek that had been dancing at the edges of his brain for awhile. He wanted to buy Isaac a car for graduation.

When Isaac had moved in with Derek, he hadn’t known how to drive. Derek hadn’t known until they had ended up in a situation and he’d tossed the keys to the Camaro at Isaac and told him to get out of danger. Isaac had just looked at them helplessly and said, “I can’t drive.”

After that, after everything settled back down, Derek taught Isaac how to drive. Which Scott and Stiles thought they should naturally supervise.

“No,” Derek said, getting into the passenger seat, Stiles on the curb.

“But we can help!” he whined.

“You gonna pay for my car when you cause Isaac to wreck it?” Derek lifted his eyebrows, and Stiles glared. “Didn’t think so.”

Stiles and Scott waited on the sidewalk while Derek talked Isaac through the motions. “Mash the clutch in, let off the break slowly…shift into first, now second, you can feel it under you when it’s time to shift…easy, you got it.” They only drove around the parking lot, but Isaac was a fast learner. He drove around in circles, testing different speeds and learning how to shift gears without jerking and stalling out. Scott and Stiles watched from the edge, clapping and yelling and cheering Isaac on the whole time.

“You graduate in a few weeks,” Derek said as Isaac washed the trunk.

“Yes. Why?”

Derek placed the rag back in the bucket and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Because I was thinking…but I didn’t want to do it without your input…in case you didn’t want…or…maybe it’s a dumb idea…”

Isaac straightened up and stepped around the car. “Derek, spit it out.”

“I wanted to buy you a car for graduation.” Derek waited nervously as Isaac stared at him, first in shock, then pure joy. Derek’s face broke into a smile, but then Isaac’s face fell and he shook his head.

“I can’t let you do that,” Isaac said. “It’s way too much.”

“You deserve it.”

“But…that’s a lot of money. And I’m just your Beta. It wouldn’t be right.”

Derek stepped forward and placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “You’re a lot more than just my Beta, Isaac. You’re my brother.” He squeezed his shoulder gently. “You need a car, you’re going off to college, and I want to do it.” Isaac wrapped Derek in a crushing hug, getting suds all over his shirt. 

They discussed what kind of car to get him – “Nice, but not too nice or expensive, not for your first car” – until Scott and Stiles inevitably showed up.

“Derek’s buying me a car!” Isaac shouted as he ran to Scott and threw his arms around him. They jumped around, talking fast and kissing, and Derek rolled his eyes and went back to washing his car.

“That’s really nice, you know,” Stiles said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he joined Derek.

Derek shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“A car? That’s huge. Scott still doesn’t have his own car. He’s still driving that dirtbike.”

Derek looked over the roof of the car, at Isaac slinging suds at Scott, who was squirting Isaac with a water hose. “Isaac deserves every good thing. He doesn’t have a family to buy it for him, but he has me.”

Stiles placed a hand on the middle of Derek’s back, right over his tattoo. He kissed Derek’s cheek lightly. “You’re amazing,” Stiles whispered. Derek’s cheek tingled where Stiles’ lips had been as he watched him join Scott and Isaac.

After the four of them finished washing and drying Derek’s car, Scott and Isaac decided to go back to the loft to look up cars on the internet (though Derek wasn’t stupid enough to think that was _all_ they were going to do), and Derek went back inside the garage. Stiles followed him. Derek locked the doors and flipped over the closed sign.

“So early?” Stiles asked as Derek walked to a car in the middle of the garage.

“Yeah, I’ve just got to finish this before I can leave. I got most everything else done this morning.” Derek laid back and crawled under the car.

“You don’t mind that I’m here, do you?” Stiles asked. 

“Not at all.” Derek felt Stiles’ relief as he heard him move around. Derek felt grounded with Stiles nearby, his scent, body heat, steady heartbeat, and erratic emotions. That need for Stiles, to breathe him in and be near him, was satisfied with him only a few feet away. Stiles let Derek work in silence, unusually quiet, and Derek could tell that there was a lot churning in his brain. 

“What happened last night?” Stiles asked suddenly.

Derek paused what he was doing, staring up at the underside of the car as he tried to figure out how to answer. “We had phone sex.”

“I know that.”

“Then I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“What are we doing?”

Derek set down his wrench and crawled out from under the car, propping himself up on his elbow. He looked up at Stiles, perched on his usual workbench. “What do you want to be doing?”

Stiles stared at Derek a moment, then ran a hand through his hair. “I want to be with you. If you want to be with me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, quickly getting up from the floor. He walked over to stand between Stiles’ legs, hands on both sides of him on the bench. “I’ve wanted to be with you for a ridiculously long time.”

Stiles looked at him in shock. “Really?”

“How many other people do you know that I cook for?” Derek raised an eyebrow, and Stiles grinned widely.

Derek closed the gap between their mouths, kissing Stiles firmly. Stiles eagerly kissed back, his arms going around Derek’s neck. Their hands were everywhere, touching and exploring, while their tongues traced every inch of each other’s mouths. Pretty soon, Stiles was absently rocking his erection against Derek’s hip, and Derek reached between him to palm it.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles moaned, neck thrown back and exposed. Derek immediately sank his teeth into the pale flesh, licking and biting and sucking. Stiles unbuttoned Derek’s jeans and slid his hand inside the front of his boxer briefs to wrap his long fingers around the hard length. The angles were awkward and slightly uncomfortable on the workbench, so Derek grabbed Stiles around the waist and turned around so he could lower them to the mat on the floor.

“Isn’t the mat dirty?” Stiles asked between kisses.

“Don’t care,” Derek mumbled, trying to get Stiles’ clothes off. When he’d removed Stiles’ shirt, he started by licking both his nipples, taking the small buds between his teeth and biting gently. Stiles’ hands were scratching along Derek’s back, and Derek ground their hips together to gain any sort of pressure he could.

“Pants off!” Stiles demanded, and Derek quickly complied. Then he looked down at Stiles, naked beneath him, and everything felt different this time. Stiles looked happier and more confident, felt less nervous and hesitant. 

A thought occurred to Derek, and he scrunched his face. “Fuck. My lube’s at the loft.”

Stiles blushed bright red and reached over to dig into his pants pockets. Derek stared at his bare ass hungrily, and reached his hand out to touch the soft, pale flesh. When Stiles brought out his hand from his pocket, he was holding a bottle of lube. “I was hoping after last night we might try again, so I came prepared.” Derek grinned and kissed Stiles again.

This time, Derek slowly inserted his fingers, one then two, fucking and opening Stiles carefully. Stiles held his legs up under the knees, his eyes closed as he got used to the feeling and enjoyed Derek’s fingers. 

“Ow,” Stiles said suddenly, and Derek yanked his fingers out of his ass. “No,” Stiles laughed lightly, “it’s not that. Your fingers are _fantastic_ , like they better fucking get back inside me soon. It’s just my tailbone is rubbing a hole in my back.”

“What?”

“I’m a bony fucker, okay? My tailbone hurts. And you decided we had to do this on the garage floor.” Stiles glanced around while Derek just stared at him stupidly. “Grab my hoodie.” Derek snapped out of his sudden panic and walked over to where Stiles’ had draped his hoodie on the edge of a chair. “I’m really enjoying this view,” Stiles said. Derek glanced over his shoulder, and Stiles was grinning, propped on his elbows with his legs open wantonly, balls hanging full and heavy between them, cock hard and curled against his stomach.

“My view’s better,” Derek said as he slowly returned to Stiles.

“Not a chance,” Stiles said as he rubbed his hands up Derek’s chest. Derek kissed him quickly before arranging the hoodie on the mat so Stiles could settle himself on it.

“Better?” Derek asked.

“Much.” He lay back and said, “Let’s get back to business.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Derek rolled his eyes, but complied.

Derek reinserted his two fingers, and Stiles’ eyes immediately drifted shut. “Doing okay?”

“Yep. But more,” Stiles demanded and Derek gently added a third. “Whoa,” Stiles said, and Derek removed it. “No, do it again, just…damn your fingers are big.” Stiles lifted his hand and waggled his fingers between them. “One of yours is like two of mine.”

“Can we do the extensive finger comparison later?” Derek asked aggravated, but he couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice. “I’ll let you create an excel spreadsheet and do a complete researched analysis when I don’t want to fuck the hell out of you.”

“You’re dirty talk is much sexier when you’re on the phone,” Stiles said with a smirk, so Derek hooked his fingers and Stiles’ entire body spasmed. “Say whatever you want as long as you keep doing that.” Derek rotated his fingers slowly, making sure to rub against that spot a few times. Stiles’ entire body was tight and rigid, his breathing shallow.

Derek was struggling to contain himself, struggling not to just cover Stiles and slam into him, hear him moan under him like he’d imagined last night. But he was prepared this time, focused solely on Stiles and his comfort and enjoyment. 

“Fuck me now, Derek, for the love of god, fuck me before I die.”

Derek chuckled, but still rotated his fingers inside Stiles. “Are you sure?”

“Do you even have to ask that?” Stiles cracked open one eye, and Derek looked at him expectantly. “Okay, yes, yes you have to. Yes, I am so fucking sure, I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Okay.” Derek removed his fingers with a wet pop and leaned down to kiss Stiles. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck , and they kissed leisurely before Derek reached over to grab the lube. He kept kissing Stiles as he squirted the liquid onto his fingers and slicked his cock. 

“What should I do?” Stiles asked, and Derek could feel some nerves creeping up. 

Derek cupped his face gently. “Don’t be nervous. Hook your legs around my waist.” Stiles nodded and did as he was told, and Derek positioned himself at Stiles’ entrance, nudging it teasingly. Stiles’ eyes fluttered, his lashes fanning gracefully beneath his eyes, and Derek felt overcome with how much he loved Stiles. Stiles noticed and looked at him in concern.

“Are you okay?”

Derek shook his head and kissed Stiles fervently, causing Stiles to squeak in surprise. “I’m great.” He placed one hand beside Stiles’ head, and asked, “Ready?” Stiles looked up at him with bright eyes, and then nodded. Derek kissed him again before pushing in extremely slow. 

Stiles’ face morphed through myriad emotions as Derek slid inside – pain, anxiety, pleasure, impatience, awe. Derek watched and memorized each flutter of emotion, the way he could literally feel the way Stiles’ brain jumped from emotion to emotion from his scent and heartbeat. “Faster,” Stiles urged, digging into Derek’s ass with his heels. “Please, I won’t break.”

“Are you sure? Does it hurt?” Derek brushed an errant strand of hair off Stiles’ forehead. 

“A little, but it’s not bad.” He smiled. “It’s starting to feel good.” Derek nodded and moved a little faster as he finished sliding all the way in. He paused, calming his breathing and trying not to come right away from feeling Stiles’ tightness surrounding him. Stiles suddenly laughed, and Derek opened his eyes. “We got farther along than last time.”

Derek laughed and leaned down and kissed him. “Oh, we’re gonna get even farther,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ mouth, pulling out and pushing back in a little more quickly than before. “I’m gonna make you come.”

“You did that - _oh god, do that again_ \- last time.” Stiles dug his fingers into the muscle in Derek’s ass. “It’s my turn to make sure you come.”

“Believe me,” Derek said, nuzzling his face into Stiles’ neck, “that’s not going to be a problem.” He nipped roughly at Stiles’ shoulder as his hips began thrusting faster, more confidently. “You’ll be lucky if I make it much longer.”

“I’m right there with you,” Stiles managed to get out, fingernails scratching roughly into Derek’s skin from the top of his ass up his back. Derek wished he didn’t heal so fast so he could see the red marks Stiles was undoubtedly leaving behind. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

They rocked liked that, kissing and holding on to one another as Derek thrust into Stiles. A few minutes later, Stiles started wiggling one of his legs around. 

“My leg is asleep,” Stiles said. “Both of them actually.” Stiles unhooked them from around Derek’s waist and dropped them to the floor.

“It’s okay,” Derek said, “I’m starting to get a cramp.” He stretched his leg out while Stiles jiggled his legs up and down.

“Pins and needles, pins and needles!” Stiles exclaimed. Then, he burst into laughter. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. “It’s just funny. I always imagined this would be more like porn, you know, perfect and stuff, but it’s totally not.”

Derek laughed, moving as his cock slid out of Stiles. “It’s really not. But it’s better,” Derek said, leaning down and kissing Stiles. “Isn’t it?”

Stiles cupped his palm against Derek’s cheek. “So much better.”

“Can we change positions?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want, as long as we don’t stop.” 

Derek smiled as he kissed Stiles, holding him tightly as he sat upright. Stiles poised himself just above Derek’s cock and Derek’s hands helped slowly guide him down on top of it.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles muttered, eyes closed, mouth parted. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Okay? Is this okay?”

“Oh god, Derek, just…nope, not okay. Too much, too much.” Stiles opened his eyes and moved up onto his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Stiles, you never have to apologize. I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or hurts you.” Derek kissed him again, his hand circling Stiles’ cock and jacking it lazily as he slipped a finger inside Stiles’ hole. Stiles hummed against Derek’s mouth, alternately rocking into Derek’s fist and back against his finger as he grabbed Derek’s cock and started tugging on it. 

“While this is great,” Stiles said against Derek’s mouth, “can we get back to the proper fucking?”

“Why are you always so aggravating?” Derek sighed.

“You say that like it surprises you.” Stiles planted a firm kiss on Derek’s mouth before sitting back.

“Move to your knees,” Derek instructed, and Stiles quickly crawled forward. Derek stared, Stiles’ ass in the air for him, and he just leaned forward and ran his hands over Stiles’ back and ass reverently. “So beautiful,” Derek whispered, placing a kiss at the top of Stiles’ ass. 

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, his eyes bright and lust-filled and Derek was overcome with desire for him, desire to see him even more blissed and fucked out. Derek grabbed Stiles’ hips and pressed into him again, eyes closing at the tight feeling of Stiles around – 

“Um, Derek, dear?” 

Derek’s eyes snapped open. “What now?”

Stiles stifled a laugh. “I think you just need a bit more lube. It’s a _tad bit_ dry, which isn’t the most comfortable.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Derek grumbled, pulling out and grabbing the bottle of lube lying nearby. “I just want to fuck you until you scream and then come inside you. Is that too much to ask?” he exclaimed as he slicked his cock.

“Impatient wolf,” Stiles muttered. “Just enjoy it. We’ll get the hang of it. Not like either one of us know what we’re doing. Scott told me that he and Isaac – “

“Can we _not_ talk about Scott and Isaac fucking while I’m trying to fuck you?” Derek asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Of course.” Stiles wiggled his butt a little, and then said, “My point _was_ that we’re not the only ones who have to figure it out.”

“Good to know,” Derek grumbled, repositioning himself.

“We’ll just have - _oh yes, that’s good, see? So worth it, nguhhh -_ we’ll have a good story,” Stiles finished breathily.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hips roughly and started thrusting quickly. His desire was coiling low in his belly, and Stiles was so perfect around him, hot and tight, and _god the sounds he was making_ and the way he _smelled_. It was fucking intoxicating. “This,” Derek grunted, barely able to talk through his heavy breathing, “okay?”

“Fuck,” Stiles started, sounding much like Derek, “yes.” 

Derek was close, his hips moving erratically and pistoning into Stiles. He pulled back just a bit too far in his zeal, and when he went to thrust back in, he accidentally slid his cock up the crevice of Stiles’ ass. Stiles just started laughing, head buried on his arms, as Derek shouted, “Fuck!”

Stiles reached behind him, grabbing Derek’s hand as he glanced up at him over his shoulder. “Come here,” Stiles said between laughs. “Don’t look so angry. I love you, you big fail wolf.”

Derek and Stiles both froze, realizing at the same moment what Stiles had said. “Do you…are you serious?” Derek asked, voice barely audible.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I am. I love you, and you’re the only person I would be comfortable enough to do all this with and still be having the time of my life.” Stiles laughed. “That sounded really cheesy.”

“I think that tonight, it’s fucking perfect.” Derek grinned as he leaned down and kissed Stiles, all tongue and lips and open mouths as he slid back inside. “I love you, too,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ mouth. It only took a few more thrusts before Derek stilled deep inside Stiles and came with a loud moan, his face buried against the side of Stiles’ neck while Stiles carded his fingers through his hair. 

“God, that was hot,” Stiles muttered, watching him open mouthed over his shoulder. Derek looked at him dazed as Stiles grabbed his own cock and started moving back in little circles on Derek’s cock again. Derek was still a bit sensitive, but he didn’t want to pull out of Stiles just yet, not until after he felt him come around him. Derek covered Stiles’ hand with his own, intertwining their fingers as they slid along Stiles’ shaft. It only took a few strokes before Stiles pressed his body up against Derek’s, head turned towards Derek’s, searching for his mouth, as he tensed around Derek’s overly sensitive cock and came. Derek stroked him through his orgasm, licking into Stiles’ slack mouth before licking the sweat pooling at the base of his neck.

When he was done, they gently lowered to the mat, Stiles’ fingers intertwining with Derek’s as Derek clutched him tightly, face buried against Stiles’ hair, not ready to separate them just yet. Stiles felt so good around him, like they fit together perfectly. Derek had never felt this way before, and he just wanted to hold on to Stiles forever.

They stayed wrapped around each other like that for awhile, until Stiles started to get a cramp in his leg. Derek gently pulled out and moved Stiles to his side, who was a bit shaky and worn out. Derek rolled onto his side so they were lying face to face and draped an arm over Stiles’ hip. 

“You look happy,” Stiles observed, tracing his fingers over Derek’s mouth.

“I am happy.” Derek slid his finger idly between Stiles’ cheeks. “Very happy.”

“Mmmhmm,” Stiles hummed contently as Derek circled his wet opening. “It’s a good look on you.” Stiles’ cheeks were flush, his eyelids dropping slightly. Derek slipped the tip of his finger inside Stiles’ hole, pushing it in and out lazily. “I never expected my first time to be on the floor of your garage,” Stiles said. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Derek asked, pausing where his finger was pressed slightly inside Stiles. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

“Hell no.” Stiles leaned forward and kissed Derek hard on the mouth. “It’s just not how I imagined it. But it’s better than how I imagined it.”

“Good.” Derek started moving his finger again, lost in the loose feeling of Stiles around him. “You do realize this wasn’t technically your first time.”

“I’m not counting the last time,” Stiles replied quickly. “Let’s just forget that ever happened.”

“Oh, I see.” Derek smiled. “We should do this in a bed. Properly. Maybe with less difficulty.”

“If your finger keeps doing what it’s doing, we can start again in a few minutes.”

“Really?” Derek said, slipping another finger inside Stiles’ relaxed and slick opening. Stiles’ eyes fell shut. 

“Yes. But I think we should shower first. You have grease smeared on your cheek.”

“Then the bed can be round three.”

-fin

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr, if you want to visit and squee about Tyler Hoechlin and Teen wolf ---> <http://thepsychicclam.tumblr.com/>


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